Epigoni: Atlantis
by P.H. Wise
Summary: The sequel to 'Epigoni.' EarthThatWas is a memory now, and Atlantis has some new residents, among them Illyria and a brokenhearted Dawn Summers. But the legacy of Earth and the Slayer line is not yet done with humanity...
1. One Small Step

Epigoni: Atlantis  
by P.H. Wise  
An Angel crossover fanfic

Prologue - One Small Step

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. I don't own Stargate. Please don't sue me. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel.

Note: **This story is the sequel to Epigoni. If you haven't read that story, you will not have seen the character growth that got Illyria to the place she begins at in this story, and the story will probably not make much sense besides. Epigoni: Atlantis contains spoilers for Buffy, Angel, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and for Epigoni.**

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Illyria stood at the foot of the ramp in Stargate Command's gate room, staring up at the open stargate. The event horizon rippled, casting its watery light across the darkness of the now abandoned bunker that had once housed mankind's first line of defense against the Goa'uld. All the rest of the surviving SGC personnel had gone through already. The lights were out; the gate alone lit the room.

She was the last. As soon as she was through, the Asgard would beam back the power generator that they had lent to the SGC for the purpose of opening a wormhole to Atlantis, and Earth-That-Was, no longer able to support human life, would at last be left to the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. Most of the survivors of the Second Fall had been evacuated to the Alpha Site. Some, mostly those well versed in fields that would be useful to the Atlantis expedition, had been chosen to relocate to the city of Atlantis in the Pegasus Galaxy. Winifred Burkle was one such person, and Winifred Burkle had become part of Illyria.

For a moment, she considered staying behind. With humanity gone, there was nothing to stop the Old Ones from rising from their slumber and ruling once more. Nothing to stop them from reclaiming what was once theirs. She could rule again. She could be a god to a god once more.

No. She no longer wanted that. And besides that, the other Old Ones would never accept what she had become. They would never accept an Old-One-with-a-soul. She would be an abomination to them. Something to be destroyed at all costs.

She'd never expected to survive the end of the world. Never expected to be the only one to walk out of that light-forsaken cavern. But here she was, standing in front of an open Chappa'ai, with all the galaxies stretched out before her.

Atlantis awaited her.

She stepped through the gate.

Such a small thing, but such a startling result; one step and you cross the great void between galaxies. As she emerged in the control room in the city of Atlantis, ignoring the momentary shocked looks of the Atlantis expedition at her very alien appearance, Illyria smiled.

She had only just begun.

END

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Author's Notes:

To quote a certain Vorlon, "And so it begins."

I was having trouble making headway on some of my other stories, so I sat down and wrote this as a means of breaking through my writer's block. It's only a page, but hey, it's a start.


	2. Brave New World

Dawn Summers dove behind the desk, narrowly evading a hail of bullets, and neatly somersaulted to her feet. She made it look easy, rising and shooting in the same smooth movement, firing once, twice, three times, and then permitting herself the faintest of smiles as the sound of her enemies hitting the floor reached her ears: three shots, three kills. She was a girl no longer; time and fate both had made her a woman and a killer. Her name was spoken and feared by those that altered the fate of nations with but a word. A distant part of her was horrified by what she had become, knew that Buffy would also have been horrified, if she had lived. That bothered her less with every day that passed. And in a flash, it all changed.

She was a mother of three children, living a safe if boring life in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Her husband worked for Newscorp, providing her and her children with everything they ever wanted; it wasn't what she wanted, but she tried to ignore the voice inside that told her she was meant for something more. Cold, crystal blue eyes troubled her dreams, sometimes, but the torpor of her life was otherwise undisturbed. Another flash, another change.

She was something else. Something beyond words. Her mind stretched into vast infinities that should have made her shudder with terror, yet seemed somehow, disturbingly right in a way that she couldn't even begin to describe. She was in the spaces between those places where humans walked, and her heart beat in time to the music of the spheres. Yet through it all, she remained herself.

She was a mother and an assassin, a Slayer and a thing they didn't have words to express in any human tongue. She made love to men and she made love to women. She made death. She made life. She married and she divorced. She watched as the Eater of Souls invaded her sister's mind, and she prepared her counterstroke. Her whole world dissolved in the light of the Ascension of the human race. Buffy ascended, smiling beautifically. Giles ascended. Xander ascended. Willow ascended. Everyone ascended before her eyes, but not her. The power of the Great Machine passed her by, leaving her with a sick, empty feeling inside before the horror set in and the desperate screams of denial began.

She woke up with just such a scream. She sat up and began to sob great, terrible tears of utter despair. The reality of her situation came rushing back to her as she wept; Earth was gone, and with it everyone she'd ever known. It was now her third day in the city of Atlantis in the far-distant Pegasus Galaxy. Had the circumstances been different, she might have been filled with amazement and wonder at the very idea of being in such a place, but here, now, it did little to lift her spirits.

She was alone.

Illyria placed a hand upon her shoulder.

Almost alone.

She didn't know why she found the presence of the Old One so comforting, but the nightmares were always lessened when Illyria was near. She had seen Illyria in her dreams, sometimes wearing a red mottled leather catsuit, sometimes in the guise of Winifred Burkle. She was probably the only one who understood. No, scratch that, she was the only one who understood. Had someone told her a week ago that an Old One was going to be her only friend in the world, she would not have believed them. Yet it was. She had latched onto Illyria just after she'd been found by the SGC's rescue teams and brought to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, one of the very few human structures on Earth-That-Was to survive the Second Fall. She didn't like to think about the time before her rescue - those first few frantic days in the light of the End. The emptiness. The growing certainty that she was the only one left alive in the world. The threat of madness... Illyria's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, and she shook the thought from her mind.

"Was it bad?" Illyria asked. To anyone else, the tone would have sounded dispassionate, almost clinical; to Dawn, it was the voice of a concerned friend.

Dawn hugged the other woman, and Illyria, uncomfortable with such basic human contact, awkwardly patted her back. Mom would have known exactly what to say. Exactly what to do. Illyria didn't, but she was grateful for the Old One's presence nonetheless. The Old One, too, was grieving, in her own way. She too had lost everything she had ever known, and twice.

"It was bad," Dawn whispered. She glanced at the clock set on the nightstand of her bed. It read 4:00 AM. "Was it really only four hours?" she asked, her voice trembling. "It seemed more like a lifetime. Several lifetimes."

Illyria's reply was as confusing as ever. "It was," she said.

Dawn looked up at the other woman, searching for some clue in her face that would unlock the meaning of that statement. Nothing. Damn. "You know something, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"I do," Illyria intoned, and cocked her head to the side in a bird-like movement.

"Tell me."

"You're not ready yet," Illyria replied.

Dawn drew herself out of the hug and hit Illyria with a pillow. "Fine. I guess you're just going to keep your secrets, then," she groused.

"Yes."

Dawn wished she had something heavier than a pillow to throw. Still, it wouldn't do to start attacking her roommate. Yeah, roommate. Atlantis, large as it was, was pressed for space at the moment; there was definitely room enough for all the additional personnel that had come from Earth after the Second Fall, but the problem was that so much of the city was still unexplored that they couldn't be certain that all of those available rooms were safe. Until Major Shepherd's team finished its checks, the newcomers were doubling up on rooms in the area the Ethosians had lived before moving to the mainland. This room was theirs; hers and Illyria's. She supposed it could have been worse. She could have had to room with Doctor McKay. She suppressed a mental shudder, wiped her eyes, and got ready to meet the brave new world.

Atlantis.

Mom would have known what to do.

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Epigoni: Atlantis  
by P.H. Wise  
An Angel crossover fanfic

Chapter 1 – Brave New World

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. I don't own Stargate. Please don't sue me. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel.

Note: **This story is the sequel to Epigoni. If you haven't read that story, you will not have seen the character growth that got Illyria to the place she begins at in this story, and the story will probably not make much sense besides. Epigoni: Atlantis contains spoilers for Buffy, Angel, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and for Epigoni.**

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Doctor Elizabeth Weir sat in her office, alone, staring blankly at the papers on her desk: not reading them, just looking at them. Several new care lines had settled onto her face in the past few days, though not enough to even begin to detract from her not inconsiderable beauty. Below, in the embarkation room, at the bottom of the stairwell that led up to the control area, John Sheppard and Aiden Ford stood, looking up at her through her office's window.

"How long's she been like that?" Sheppard asked.

"She was like that when I came on duty four hours ago," Ford replied.

"Hasn't anyone talked to her? Found out what was wrong?"

Ford gave Sheppard a slightly disbelieving look. "We all know what's wrong," he said.

The good Major seemed to sink into his heels, crestfallen. "Yeah," he said, his voice pained, "I know. But what she's doing with the blank staring and sitting there aimlessly – that can't be healthy, can it?"

Ford shrugged helplessly. "Truth be told, Sir, I'd probably be doing the same thing if I weren't on duty. And from what I hear, we don't have it half as bad as the people who actually lived through it. You tried talking to them? It's like they're not even there."

Sheppard didn't much like that response, either. "I hear Dr. Heightmeyer's booked solid for the next two years at least. I guess you need a good psychologist in a time like this... but I hate seeing her like this. Someone needs to do something. This can't go on forever."

"We lost Earth, Sir. What do you expect?"

John got a stubborn look, and walked up the stairs purposefully, heading for Weir's office.

"Sir..." Aiden said, and then trailed off, and turned away.

John knocked on the archway that served as the entrance to the office. Doctor Weir did not react, so he walked in, sat down at the chair across the desk from her and said, "Elizabeth?"

She started visibly, and her eyes met his. The hopelessness he saw there, unguarded for the barest of seconds, made him want to wince. "John," she said, and as she spoke his name, she seemed to gain strength. "What can I do for you?"

John smiled faintly. "For starters, you can tell me what's had you staring off into space for the last four hours."

She pushed the papers across the desk to him. He glanced down at them, blinked, took a moment to read them more thoroughly, and then let out a long, slow breath. These were the procedures laid out by General O'Neill that the Atlantis base is to follow in the event of the loss of Earth, and they were complicated. Very complicated. From the language usage, Sheppard suspected that Walter had been the one who had actually prepared them. The General had never liked to use legal language.

"Oh," Sheppard said at last.

Weir nodded.

Silence hung between them for a moment as John digested the information he had just received. At length, he spoke. "We can't sit on this forever, you know," he said.

"I know," she replied, "I just need some time. Time for all this to sink in."

John nodded. "I agree," he said diplomatically, which for him almost invariably came off as 'condescendingly.' She knew him well enough to understand the meaning, though, and just smiled in response. It was the first she'd smiled since she heard the news. "We should give it a month," he went on, "Maybe two, before we start making drastic changes around here. But those changes are going to happen eventually, and we're going to have to make some hard decisions."

"I know. I just wish it weren't necessary."

"So do I."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

------------------------

Things slowly began to settle into place for Dawn, and in a few short weeks, her life had become routine again. While she hadn't been a slouch with languages before she'd started having 'The Dreams' (and it was always capitalized in her mind), the knowledge that she had gained, especially in those dreams of lives in which she was more interested in linguistics than she ever had been in this one, Dawn was fast gaining a reputation for being able to speak and read nearly any language – including Ancient. That being the case, much of her time was spent translating information gathered from the Ancient database. She took her meals in the second cafeteria – one of the three additional cafeterias that had been set up to serve the several thousand people that had been brought to Atlantis from Earth after the Second Fall. And at the end of the day, she returned to her room, and slept beneath Illyria's watchful gaze, confident in the Old One's ability to keep her safe. Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, and at last, weeks became months.

As for Illyria, her days were filled with the regular trial of not flaying Doctor McKay alive. He was a bug. An insignificant creature that she would have squashed without thought, once upon a time. Now, she simply gritted her teeth and did her work as a scientist in his department. She did not require sustenance, but she partook of food occasionally; she never had the same dish twice, however; once she had tried one dish, she saw no reason to ever try it again, for the memory of its taste remained undimmed in her awareness whenever she cared to recall it.

It was during one of those occasions, two months after her arrival in Atlantis, that she first met Major John Sheppard. She was experiencing turkey and cranberry sauce at the time, and wearing the Burkle persona. Dawn was with her, eating at the seat next to her, though from the looks of it, the girl wasn't particularly hungry.

"Hello," John said, and sat down at the table across from Illyria. "You must be the new researcher Rodney's always ranting about. Winifred, right?"

Illyria considered the human for a moment, and then returned her attention to the flavor of the meat and fruit-product. If the good Major was discouraged by her disinterest, he made no sign of it. It was Dawn who spoke up next, however.

"She likes to be called Illyria," Dawn said.

"Illyria?" Sheppard asked. "That's an odd nickname. I like it."

Dawn blushed faintly and smiled. "Well, she's an odd sort of person. But she's great once you get to know her!"

"Is that a fact? Well then, I'll just have to try harder, won't I?" He smiled good-naturedly, and met Dawn's gaze. "You must be the new translator. I'm John. John Sheppard."

Dawn's blush got worse. "I'm Dawn."

"Summers, right?"

Dawn nodded.

"So how'd you get the nickname, Illyria?" he asked.

Illyria shot Dawn an irritated look, and Dawn stuck out her tongue in response. For a moment, Illyria considered ripping out Dawn's tongue for her impertinence, but the thought passed quickly. She would never do that to her friend. The urges and instincts of a god-king were still present within her, but thanks to the influence of her very human soul, she had brought them under a measure of control. She met Sheppard's gaze, and her warm, brown eyes seemed to freeze solid. "I have no interest in mating with a worm like yourself," she said imperiously. "Cease your bleating and be gone. Already the stench of your lust has overpowered the scent of my meal."

John's eyes widened in surprise, and Dawn struggled to refrain from laughing. "Geeze!" John said, "You weren't kidding about the odd. Fine, I can see where I'm not wanted." He rose to his feet, and left the table.

"Don't encourage the likes of him," Illyria stated coldly while he was still within earshot.

"Who, me?" Dawn asked innocently.

Illyria met Dawn's gaze, and her expression softened, and her eyes returned to the warm brown of the Burkle persona. "You lust for him," she said.

Dawn went completely red at that.

"He may be genetically compatible, but I do not approve. He is a bad choice, and far too old for your current shell."

"I do not lust for him!" Dawn said, and a little too loudly. People from surrounding tables stopped their conversations and stared for a moment.

Dawn wilted, and sank into her chair.

Illyria smiled ever so faintly. Anyone who didn't know her well wouldn't have caught it, but Dawn saw, and glared daggers at the Old One. She opened her mouth to say something awful, but was cut off as the city's PA system activated.

"May I have your attention, please," Doctor Weir said, her voice echoing through every room and corridor in Atlantis.

Everyone in the cafeteria looked up, and fell silent.

"This is Doctor Weir. I have an announcement to make. As you all know, the governments funding the Atlantis expedition no longer exist, and we have heard nothing from Earth's Alpha Site, nor can we spare the Daedalus to make the trip to investigate, as doing so would leave us vulnerable to a Wraith attack. We are on our own. So the question arises: how will we live? How will we govern ourselves? Will we continue as we have for the last few months, or will we establish a new government? To that end, I am hereby calling a meeting of every person on Atlantis. It will be held two days from today, and we will there decide what is to be done, and by whom. That is all."

Stunned silence filled the cafeteria for a long moment, and then everyone began talking at once.

-------------------

The talk had certainly not died down on the dawn of the Tuesday on which the 'town meeting' had been scheduled to take place, nor had Weir's uncertainty about the future of Atlantis decreased in any significant degree. Elizabeth Weir woke that morning to the sound of her alarm. She had only managed to get sleep for four hours; she'd spent much of the night tossing and turning, mulling over the possible outcomes of the morning; fearing the thought of not being in charge anymore once the people here had made their choice. But it would be a relief, wouldn't it? Not being the one in charge? Not having the fate of the survivors of Earth in her hands? It would be a relief for that to be in someone else's hands. But in whose hands? Teyla's? Maybe. Sheppard's? Also possible. But there wasn't anyone else she'd trust to run whatever government the people decided on.

Nobody else understood what was really going on out here.

It was idiotic, really. The thought of turning over control of Atlantis to a potentially unqualified civilian. A politician, run Atlantis? Impossible. Abruptly, she laughed out loud. She was that politician, selected by the President to run Atlantis in the first place. It hadn't turned out so badly for her. Why should it for the next person?

She took a long shower while she thought about the situation. Steam filled the room, and she thought, and the mirrors fogged up, and she thought. Then, at last, she emerged, dried off, got dressed, put on her makeup, and went out to meet the world.

She didn't feel any better about the situation.

John was there in the corridor outside the great hall that they had chosen for this meeting: a great hall only discovered three days previously.

"Elizabeth," he said politely.

"John," she replied, inclining her head.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

She met his gaze. "No," she said. It was barely a whisper, but he heard it, and his expression softened.

He started forward as if to embrace her, then stopped short, smiled awkwardly and said, "Everything's going to be OK, Elizabeth."

It was absolutely ridiculous. There were a million things that could go wrong. A million mistakes the citizens of Atlantis could make. Yet somehow, impossibly, she believed him. She smiled. "I know," she replied.

Side by side they stepped through the doorway and into the great hall where the population of Atlantis waited, four thousand strong. Doctor Weir entered the room, the crowd fell silent. She and John walked to the front of the hall, and John stepped aside; she had to make the rest of this journey alone. She strode to the podium at the front of the hall with all the confidence she could muster, and all eyes followed her. Elizabeth stood there for a long moment, her eyes scanning the crowd. The original members of the Atlantis expedition were there, and the Ethosians as well, but they were vastly outnumbered by the new arrivals from Earth. She took a deep breath.

At last, she spoke, and her voice rolled out across the room, confident and strong, carried even to the farthest corners by the amplification provided by the city's PA system.

"My fellow humans," she said, "Earth is gone."

A deep sigh went up from the crowd, as if everyone had released the breath that they were holding simultaneously.

"And though we come from different places, with differing customs and traditions, it now falls to us to create a new, unified government; Earth is gone, and it now falls to us to choose what happens next. Will we flicker and die like a spark thrown from a bonfire, or will this be a new beginning for our civilizations? In accordance with the instructions left to me by the President of the United States in the event of the loss of Earth, I am hereby calling for the creation of an Atlantean Congress, for the purpose of determining exactly what kind of government we will have, and the drafting of our new constitution, to be approved by at least a seventy five percent majority before being put into practice. The floor is now open for nominations."

She swallowed heavily, and sat down in the chair that had been set up immediately to the left of the podium, her heart racing.

Silence. A minute passed, and then two, with not a single word – not even a whisper – from the crowd. People began glancing about nervously. The reality of the situation had come home for them, and it was terrifying. Another minute passed. Another, and still no one spoke.

Elizabeth barely suppressed the urge to giggle hysterically. What, she wondered, would happen if **no one was nominated?** She forced herself not to react. Not to let the panic she felt show to anyone in the crowd.

John knew. Their eyes met, and he knew. He was willing her to be strong, willing her to be the leader she had to be in this situation. She endured.

Another minute passed in silence, and then another.

And then, at last, ten minutes after she had sat down beside the podium, a woman stood up in the crowd. Illyria. Elizabeth cringed internally. Of all the people who could have spoken, why her? Why now? Clad in her blue-jeans, yellow blouse and lab-coat, she didn't look particularly threatening. Elizabeth knew better. Within that slight and frail looking frame lurked a power that could bind even the Goa'uld to its will.

She had no choice. She stood, went to the podium, and spoke. "The chair recognizes Winifred Burkle," she said.

All eyes turned to Illyria, then, every breath held in anticipation of what she might say.

"I nominate Elizabeth Weir to the Congress," Illyria said, her voice full of a pleasant Texan drawl.

Silence.

Weir took a deep breath. "Is there a second?" she asked.

For about ten seconds, no one moved. Then, a man she didn't know – one of the new arrivals from Earth – raised a hand. "Seconded," he said.

Weir let out her breath. "We have our first nomination," she announced.

Things went more smoothly after that. Some fifty representatives were chosen in total, with Radek Zelenka, Carson Beckett, Teyla, Kavanagh (Weir had mentally cringed at his nomination), and Rodney McKay all among the fifty.

As the nominations drew to a close, Weir met Illyria's gaze. The Old One was smiling, but it wasn't a pleasant smile: more like a smile of triumph. She couldn't help but wonder what the Old One expected to get out of this. What she owed her.

It had begun, and there was no stopping it now.

END CHAPTER 1

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Here we go. Not as long as I had planned it to be, but the first chapter is, at least, finished.


	3. To Make a House a Home

Dawn awoke and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grimacing slightly. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings and come back to an awareness of her self. She was Dawn Summers, that much was almost always the same; and even when it wasn't, she was still Buffy's sister. Or magical clone. Or whatever; once she had been Buffy and Angel's magical daughter. **That** had been weird. Her eyes teared up, and she shuddered, reminding herself that it was just a dream. Glory hadn't won. Hadn't killed Giles. Dawn had never crossed dimensions, and she certainly hadn't joined the marines. Reality settled in around her, and immediately a sense of loss, and of diminishment threatened to overwhelm her senses. The memories of that other life faded into the background, and she was herself again.

Illyria was there, watching over her in the guise of Winifred Burkle. "Welcome back, Dawnie," the Old One said pleasantly, Fred's Texan twang buzzing in her voice.

Dawn had never met Fred in this life, but she'd experienced some dream-lives where the two of them had been friends, and it annoyed her to see Illyria pretending to be her. But then, she'd never liked it when her friends had pretended to be something they weren't. "Lyri..." Illyria's eyes narrowed slightly at the diminutive, but Dawn kept talking. "What's with the Fred imitation? You don't have to pretend to be her in here. I know better."

Fred's face lost all traces of warmth as she considered the newly-awakened young woman before her. "I wear this face because I wish it," she said coldly.

Wow. Kind of touchy on the subject. When did this start? Dawn raised an eyebrow, a curious expression on her face.

"What did you see?" Illyria asked.

Dawn knew she was only asking to get away from the subject of her 'Burkle Persona,' but it worked. Damn her eyes, but it worked. Like Illyria a moment before, Dawn didn't want to talk about it. "I don't remember," she said stubbornly.

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Epigoni: Atlantis  
by P.H. Wise  
An Angel crossover fanfic

Chapter 2 – To Make a House a Home

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. I don't own Stargate. Please don't sue me. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel.

Note: **This story is the sequel to Epigoni. If you haven't read that story, you will not have seen the character growth that got Illyria to the place she begins at in this story, and the story will probably not make much sense besides. Epigoni: Atlantis contains spoilers for Buffy, Angel, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, and for Epigoni.**

-------------------------

Well, this was different. Boring, but different. Dawn permitted herself a small grimace as she went about the task of cataloguing the written records that had been salvaged from Earth's ruin. Yesterday they'd had her translating Ancient. Today, they had her doing this. Resentment rose up in her belly. Why should she do any of this? She wasn't being paid. There wasn't any money to pay her, and even if there had been, it wouldn't have been worth anything out here.

She was in a large storage area, brightly lit but with no obvious light sources beyond the glowing wall panels that the ancients appeared to be so very fond of. When she'd first arrived, Dawn had taken a moment to try to figure out where all the extra light was coming from, but had quickly given up. The storage area was currently full to the brim with boxes and boxes and boxes full of books, magazines, ancient artifacts, and more modern 'artifacts.' All she had to worry about was the books; the artifacts and magazines were the job of the other workers in the area, each of whom was busily cataloguing away; the low buzz of their occasional conversation curled around her like smoke.

She turned the page of the book she held, and with the turning, her resentment evaporated like a thin layer of fog before the mid-day sun. 'The Filostrato of Giovanni Boccaccio,' the book's title proclaimed in bold black lettering. She placed it carelessly in the 'literature' stack, and marked down the appropriate information on the computer terminal that had been provided for her. It was funny. They now had more information on the history of Atlantis and of the Ancients than they had of Earth and humanity; the greatest wealth of literature and historical records that they still had was the contents of Daniel Jackson's office at the SGC, and that barely scratched the surface of the history of the people of Earth. What kind of culture would grow out of this? She shook the thoughts from her mind. It was no good thinking about things she couldn't change. No good thinking about... no. She wouldn't allow her thoughts to go in that direction.

As she continued with her task, Dawn felt a peculiar sense of doubling, as if one will were directing two bodies in the selfsame task. It faded quickly, but she shuddered nonetheless. That had been happening more often as of late, and she didn't much like it. Maybe she'd ask Illyria about it at some point. She probably wouldn't get a straight answer from the Old One, but it'd make her feel better to ask, at least.

Today was the day she would be tested for the Ancient Gene, she knew. Illyria, too. Doctor Beckett was giving everyone recovered from Earth a complete physical, and that was a part of it. Idly, she wondered how the Old One planned to get through that without arousing suspicion.

Days had passed since the Town Meeting, and the whole population of Atlantis was in an uproar over the decisions that they all knew were to be made by the Congress that they had elected. Everyone had an opinion on what kind of government they should create. Well, almost everyone; the ones that still thought of this whole experience as some kind of waking nightmare (and there was no small number of these) simply took it as one more nail in the coffin of everything that was safe and familiar. Dawn tried not to think about that much. The building of a new nation seemed like far too big a deal for someone as small as herself to be involved in. She just did the work she was assigned, and every day tried to regain as much normalcy as she could. She was almost nineteen now. She could handle this. She could handle being on her own.

She could.

She couldn't.

Sorrow welled up in her uncontrollably as her thoughts finally came to rest on the one thing she'd been trying so hard to distract herself from thinking about.

Buffy.

Buffy was gone. There had been such a look of joy on her face when she'd vanished with all the others... nearly overcome, Dawn dropped the book she was holding to the floor and ran. Faster and faster, she ran, until she was running with all her might, and sorrow followed, nipping at her heels like an angry dog. She ran through the corridors of Atlantis, knocking a startled Major Sheppard to the ground as she went, running on and on until finally there was nowhere else to run; she'd reached the edge of the north pier, and all that lay before her beyond the guardrail was a vast expanse of ocean.

She almost thought she could smell Buffy's perfume on the salty ocean air. That didn't help matters. Giles. Xander. Willow. Buffy. Tara. Mom. Buffy had said she'd never abandon her. Where was she now? Huh? "Where are you now?" she whispered, and her voice was lost to the ocean's roar. Her emotions welled up inside her, taking form in her lungs and moving up until she could bear it no longer, slammed her fists into the guardrail and screamed, "BUFFY!"

Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, Dawn fell to her knees; she fell to her knees and wept, and the vast ocean heeded her not at all.

-----------------

Elizabeth Weir pinched the bridge of her nose. This was getting nowhere fast. The first Lantean Congress had been in session for the last six hours, and the only progress that they'd made thus far was a very general statement of purpose. Which of course meant that absolutely nothing had been accomplished, as each of them had known the purpose of this body when they'd accepted their nominations to it three days previous.

She hadn't even gotten them to agree that the new government should be a democracy. She'd tried, and the members of her original expedition team that were members of the Congress were in favor of it, for the most part - except for Kavanagh. He was the root of the problem, she was sure. When he'd been nominated (and Elizabeth still wondered why on Earth anyone had thought him fit to decide policy), she'd known it would be trouble, but she'd never expected this. Immediately after her impassioned speech on the need for a new democracy, the need for the survivors of Earth and their Athosian allies to govern themselves as a free people, Kavanagh started his opposition.

"With all due respect to Doctor Weir," he said, "That's an horrible idea. These people just experienced the end of the world. They survived, for lack of a better term, an Apocalypse. They are nowhere near recovered from the trauma of that experience, and are light years away from being able to govern themselves responsibly." Kavanagh's eyes were bright as he spoke, and she saw several nodding in agreement with him. "What's more, the survivors of Earth have been thrust into mortal danger by coming here. Thanks in no small part to the gross incompetence of the current leadership of Atlantis, the Wraith were allowed to become a threat that now threatens our very survival as a species."

Doctor Weir repressed the urge to interrupt him. She would have her chance for rebuttal.

"We need a strong leader to guide us through this time," Kavanagh went on, "Someone who understands the situation and is competent enough to correct the grave, grave mistakes made by those currently in command of this city." He glanced at Doctor Weir. "Democracy can come later, when we're ready for it. Right now, we need..."

"A despot?" Doctor Zelenka asked, his voice grave.

If looks could kill, Kavanagh's glare would have flayed the Czech doctor alive. He did not allow his anger to carry into his voice, however. "A governor with both the means and the will to preserve the human race from extinction," he finished.

A faint murmur went through the group as Kavanagh returned to his seat, and Weir went up to the podium to speak.

"The decisions and motivations of myself and Major Sheppard in regards to the leadership of the Atlantis expedition are at this point a matter of public record, and I urge you each to take the time to read the mission reports, which document both our decisions and the reasoning behind them. I stand by my record, and by my decisions, and I will not be made to defend them. With that out of the way, I wish to address Representative Kavanagh's suggestion of an all-powerful executive ruler." Her gaze traveled across the delegates, and her words hung heavily in the air. "Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety. Those words were spoken by Benjamin Franklin, one of the founding fathers of the nation that many of us here came from, and it is no less true today than it was in his time. A single executive ruler in whose hands rest all the power of the state may seem like an ideal solution in the short term, and it would certainly make our lives easier – for a while - but once given power, despots have a way of remaining in power. If our history has taught us anything, it is this."

"Again, with all due respect," Kavanagh began, and it was clear by his tone that he held none of that respect for Weir, "I don't think you're seeing the big picture. But that's always been your problem, hasn't it? You've never been clear-sighted enough to rise above your emotional response, Doctor Weir. You lead with your heart. We need to lead with our heads, if we're to survive. There are a little more than four thousand of us left here, and lacking the ability to contact Earth's alpha site to find out if the people there are even still alive, we may well be the last remnants of Earth's civilization in the universe. We are going to have to make some hard decisions in the coming months, and if we don't make the right ones, our species, our culture, and our way of life may well become extinct. Four thousand. That's it. When there are more of us, we can risk being ruled by the mob. But now, now we need strength and solidarity, and the unity that can only come from a single ruler."

All eyes returned to Weir as she began her rebuttal. "You're right, Kavanagh." For a moment, she wondered what his first name was, but quickly dismissed the thought as unimportant. "There are only a little more than four thousand of us left. But even if we should fail, the human race will continue. Entire galaxies were seeded with human life by the Ancients. Their legacy will continue, even if we do not. We may well be the last remnant of Earth's civilization, but we are not alone." She glanced at Teyla as she said this, and there were a few nods from the assembly. "Our responsibility is far greater than mere survival. We are engaged in the lofty enterprise of nation-building. We have a duty to create the world we would want to live in, because the world we create here, in this room, is the world we will be giving to our children, and to our grandchildren. We cannot afford to be short-sighted in this. Freedom is the birthright of the human race, and I for one will not give that up for convenience sake. Will you?" The question was not addressed at Kavanagh, but at the assembly, and its effect was palpable. "I'm not saying it will be easy; but it will be worth it. Eternal vigilance may be the price of freedom, but it is a price worth paying, because the alternative is nothing less than tyranny."

And that was it. The debate was ended for the day. About thirty of the fifty representatives applauded, and Weir smiled. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Now, if there is nothing further to discuss, and as we have already been in session for over six hours now, I propose that we recess for the day. Is there a second?"

"Seconded," Doctor McKay called, looking impatient. Weir sympathized with him. Although all of the members of this Congress understood the importance of what was going on, McKay had never been a patient man, and he was clearly eager to get back to his research.

"All in favor?" Weir asked.

The delegates punched their responses into the terminals before them, and the main screen behind the podium lit up with the results: the resolution had been passed, and the congress would go into recess for the day. The murmur of conversation began almost immediately.

Doctor Beckett rose to his feet and began to collect his things. He had a number of physicals to give today, and this meeting had cut significantly into his available time. While he had a fully trained medical staff to assist with such matters, with all the new arrivals needing to be checked out, they were overworked, and needed every trained team member as often as they could have them.

"Carson," Elizabeth called, walking down from the podium.

Beckett looked up. "Aye?" he asked.

"I checked your work schedule for the day, and noticed that you'll be examining Winifred Burkle today," she said

Beckett nodded.

"I wonder if you might stay a moment. I have something I need to discuss with you in regard to Doctor Burkle."

The room was emptying rapidly, and within a few minutes, they were alone. As the last person left the room, Weir spoke. "Carson, this is very important. I need you to keep the results of Doctor Burkle's physical strictly confidential."

"A patient's medical history is already confidential, Elizabeth."

"I know, but this one... this one is a little odd. You may have heard rumors about her, how she came through the Stargate in a leather catsuit and body-paint..."

Beckett smiled at that. "Aye. You'd never figure a delicate lass like herself for that sort of thing, but it's usually the quiet ones who surprise you."

Weir schooled her expression carefully to avoid laughing at that. "She's more surprising than most. She was previously examined by Doctor Warner at the SGC. Only Rodney and I have known about this before now." She produced a small folder and handed it to Beckett. "This is important, Carson. No one can know about this. Not yet. We're not ready. I know what you're thinking, but read the report, and if you still don't agree with me, you can do whatever you want with the information."

He nodded. "I'll read it. I don't like the sound of this, but I'll read it."

"That's all I ask," she replied, and turned to leave.

Carson opened the folder and began reading the contents. After a few minutes, his eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the papers in shock.

-----------------------

"Good afternoon, Doctor Burkle," Carson said nervously. Illyria had just arrived for her physical, with a sullen Dawn in tow. The medlab was bustling with patients and medical personnel, but when Illyria and Dawn had arrived, they were immediately directed into a side room where the good Doctor stood waiting for them. Human and Ancient technology filled the little room on either side of a small bed, and Illyria took an immediate dislike to it.

"Miss Summers, if you'll just wait outside, we can begin..."

Illyria cut him off. "Dawn Summers will remain here for the duration," she said, and her tone brooked no disagreement.

Beckett paled a bit at that, and barely restrained himself from flinching at the commanding tone of the possibly hostile alien who could squash him like a bug if she so chose.

Illyria grimaced. "You have been told. It is obvious. The reek of your fear is oppressive." She glanced at Dawn for a moment, then redirected her gaze to Carson. "I will not harm you this day, Doctor Beckett. You may begin your ministrations."

Doctor Beckett nodded, taking a deep, calming breath. "Right then, a bald head is soon shaved."

The physical went quickly enough, and Illyria did her best to suppress the feeling of suffocation that being in such a tiny side-room brought to her. Soon, Doctor Beckett was breathing a sigh of relief as he completed his final test.

He blinked, examined the Ancient medical device, and ran the test again, scanning Illyria a second time.

The scanner showed the same result as before. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

"What?" Dawn asked, trying to get a glimpse of what the device showed.

Carson shook his head. "I must be reading this wrong."

----------------------

"The Ancient gene?" Weir asked, thoroughly surprised. This was one discovery that she had never expected in a million years.

"Aye. Whatever her body's become, it still possesses the Ancient Gene."

"But she doesn't have any internal organs, Carson. Her body is hollow. How can she have the Ancient Gene?"

Carson smiled faintly. "It's a matter of genetics, Elizabeth, not the condition of the body."

"Were you at least able to determine what's keeping her alive?"

Carson shook his head. "I asked Doctor McKay to have a look at the lab results, though. He might have more of an answer for you."

They were in Weir's office, with Elizabeth seated at her desk, and both Carson and Rodney seated across from her. Weir and Beckett looked to McKay.

"Well, the equipment here is considerably better than what we had available on Earth. As near as I can figure, she's actually being sustained by something very similar to the energy being we encountered in the ancient laboratory when we first arrived here last year. An order of magnitude stronger, but similar nonetheless."

"Her body is... inhabited by this creature?" Weir asked. "Is Doctor Burkle still alive?"

"I don't know if you can call that living," Carson interjected. "With most of her internal organs missing, there's no way her body could survive on its own. Like as not, if it were possible to separate 'Illyria' from Doctor Burkle, she'd die right quick, and it'd be bloody painful."

Weir nodded, and then looked to McKay. "Rodney?" she asked leadingly.

Doctor McKay shrugged. "The energy pattern does show some similarity to the bio-electrical energy generated by a human body, but without some means of comparison..."

"Well, is there any way to separate this energy being from her body?"

"No, I'd say definitely not. It's not just inhabiting her; the scans show that it's actually an integral part of her physiology. Even if we could separate the energy being from the human host, it would," he nodded to Carson, "almost certainly result in Doctor Burkle's death."

Weir nodded. "And the other one? Dawn Summers?"

Carson shook his head. "Another mystery. We still don't know why or how her body rejected the gene therapy, but it was bloody amazing to see it happen."

"Oh?"

"She glowed green."

"She what?"

"That's what I said. You should have seen it, Elizabeth! For about a minute, nothing, and then her whole body lit up with green light. When the light faded, all traces of the gene-therapy retrovirus had vanished from her body."

"How is that possible?" Weir asked.

"As far as I know, it's not," Beckett said, "But we scanned her with the same sensors we used on Miss Burkle, and detected the same kind of energy pattern in her."

"Do you think she's from the same species as Illyria?"

"It's possible. There are some distinct differences in the patterns they emanate, but that could just be their equivalent of ethnicity. But if they're members of the same species, I'd like to know what species that is, and how two of them came to Earth undetected."

McKay and Weir exchanged glances, but said nothing.

"I want you two to make a full report," Weir said after a moment, "And have it on my desk before morning."

McKay and Beckett nodded, and then departed, leaving Doctor Weir alone with her thoughts. A few minutes later, she spoke into her communicator. "Please have Winifred Burkle brought to my office," she said.

Fateful words.

-----------------------

Illyria strode imperiously into Doctor Weir's office some ten minutes later, annoyed at the temerity of this woman in daring to summon her, and more so at her own willingness to be summoned. Once, she would have flayed Weir alive for her presumption. But not now. The urge faded even as it occurred to her. Yes, Illyria was in a Bad Mood. Once, this would have been lethal. Now, it was simply dangerous.

Weir sat on the other side of her desk, and the sounds of the daily activity in the Atlantis control room floated in through the open door.

"Thank you for coming, Illyria," Weir said as the Old One came to a halt in front of the desk.

Illyria said nothing. How things had changed. How the mighty had fallen. Summoned, and she came like a dog obeying her master's command. She nearly choked on her own pride. It didn't help that Weir's office was a tiny enclosed space.

"I asked you here for two reasons. The first is because of the results of your and Dawn's tests."

"You wish to use me because of this... genetic compatibility," Illyria said.

"Yes," Weir replied. "We need all the people we can get who have the Ancient Gene. People born with it are invariably better at using the technology than the people who are given the gene therapy, and the gene-therapy only works for one out of every two people."

"We will not be your tools, Doctor Weir, nor are we your subjects."

"I realize that. But surely an alliance between us would be beneficial to us all."

Illyria considered that idea. She knew that Weir was treading carefully, trying to avoid bruising her ego. Even that thought rankled, yet another reminder of everything she had lost. 'And everything I have gained,' another part of her countered. Startled by that bolt out of the blue, she very nearly let her confusion show on her face. Nearly. Although she might not be willing to admit it, for all the diminishment of her divinity it had brought, she did prefer this existence to her life before inhabiting this shell... though she was not yet sure whether she preferred her life as Winifred Burkle to her current one. That was another thought that she would never, ever speak aloud. "An alliance. What can you offer one such as me, Elizabeth Weir?"

"You tell me," Weir countered, "You're the one who has lent me aid twice now, and unlooked for. You obviously want **something** from me." Weir steepled her hands in front of her face. "I am also concerned to learn that Dawn Summers is, as far as Rodney and Carson can tell, another of your species."

"And you wish to know if she will place your people in danger?"

"Will she?"

Illyria laughed; it was a cruel sound. "Yes, though not by choice. She would never intentionally put you in danger, but when the avalanche has already begun, it is too late for the pebbles to vote."

Weir nodded thoughtfully. A silence hung between them for a long moment before she spoke again. "Once, back on Earth, you said that you might explain how you came to be in that body. Will you explain it now?"

Illyria considered the request. "I will," she said at last, "But there is a price."

Weir nodded.

So she told her.

Told her everything.

FLASH

_Fred looked into his eyes, and her body quivered uncontrollably. "I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared," she insisted, her frightened tone belying her words. After a few moments, her grip softened, and she sank into his arms. _

_Weakly, she spoke. "Please, Wesley, why can't I stay?"_

_Her body went still in Wesley's arms._

FLASH

She told Weir of the infection. Of the search for a cure. Of the long sleep. Of the sudden awakening. Of her death, and of her rebirth, and what came after. Of Wesley's death, and of the events leading up to her arrival at Stargate Command, it seemed like so very long ago now.

Weir's jaw dropped open in shock. She obviously had no idea how to respond to such a tale. She recovered quickly, however. "So Doctor Burkle is dead?" she asked in a near whisper.

"Nothin' of the host survives?" Illyria asked in Fred's voice. She shook her head. "It ain't that simple. Never is, is it?" The Texan accent drained from her voice as she continued. "When I consumed Fred Burkle, I took all that she was into myself. Winifred Burkle is in me, as I am in her. There is now no distinction between us."

"And Dawn Summers? Did she consume her host as well?"

"No. The circumstances of her arrival in a human body were different. Easier, and harder. She is her host, and her host is her. She was made that way from the beginning. There was never a creature called Dawn Summers who was not already as she is now." The Texan twang was now completely absent from Illyria's voice, as was all trace of human emotion. Her brown eyes froze over into her natural, unnatural blue. "What is your second reason for asking me here, Doctor Weir?"

"To ask a question: why are you helping me?"

Illyria tilted her head to the side. "Power," she replied.

"Power?"

"You have it. Others want it. They surround you like carrion-birds, waiting eagerly for you to falter so they might strip the meat from your bones. They want you to fail so they can take the power for themselves."

"And what do you want?" Weir asked.

"To live free, and never die," Illyria replied.

"Once you told me you wanted to conquer all."

"Yes."

"Do you no longer want that?"

Illyria didn't answer.

"I am going to be perfectly honest with you, Illyria. I don't trust you. I don't trust your motives, and I don't trust your means. But I do know that you have never lied to me, and I need that honesty right now."

The Old One considered this statement, and said nothing.

"I've been thinking a lot about the future lately. What sort of society we're going to create here. What sort of legacy we're going to leave for our children and grandchildren. But I know that the future is not all we have to concern ourselves with: if we do not learn from the mistakes of our past, we are condemned to repeat them. You were there when Earth was destroyed, weren't you? In the chamber with SG-1?"

Illyria nodded.

"Is it really over? Does it really stop with the destruction of Earth?"

Illyria shook her head. "No. The creature responsible for what your people have come to call 'The Second Fall' will not be content with its victory on Earth. The demons will come for humanity, and you must be ready for them, or you will surely become extinct."

Weir nodded. "... I suspected as much," she said.

"Then you are wiser than I have given you credit for," Illyria replied. Halfway through her sentence, there was a bright flash, accompanied by the distinctive sound of an Asgard transporter beam; Illyria did not trail off, but completed her sentence, and then turned to look at the Asgard who had just appeared in the room.

Weir's eyes widened, and she stared at the Asgard for a moment, unused to the comings and goings of Earth's greatest allies.

The Asgard spoke. "I am Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet," he said.

-----------------

Elizabeth's diplomatic training kicked in almost automatically at that. "Supreme Commander Thor," she said, "It is an honour to meet you. An unexpected honour, but an honour all the same."

Illyria looked on speculatively.

"And you as well, Doctor Weir," Thor replied. It did not surprise Weir that Thor knew her name, though they had never previously met. "The Asgard deeply regret that we were unable to assist you during the destruction of your world, but we were at a crucial juncture in our war with the Replicators, and even one ship could have been the difference between survival and certain destruction. We offer our sympathy to you and your people. The Asgard, too, know the pain of losing our Homeworld."

Weir nodded. "Thank you, Supreme Commander. It is good to know that we are not alone in this." She took a breath. "You said that the war with the Replicators was at a crucial juncture. I take it this is no longer the case? How is the war going now?"

Thor did as close to an approximation of a smile as his physiology could allow. "We are winning."

That lifted Weir's spirits. If the Asgard won their long war with the Replicators, they would have an easy solution for nearly every problem currently faced by the citizens of Atlantis. "That's wonderful news!" She barely restrained herself from asking, 'so how much longer will you be?' General O'Neill wouldn't have, but she did. "Do you have a timetable for final victory?" Smooth, Elizabeth. Smooth. Maybe it would have been better to channel O'Neill.

Thor nodded. "We do. Using all of the resources currently at our disposal, we estimate that we will have achieved a final victory in four hundred and twenty seven of your years."

Disappointment was a bitter drink, though it was still good news that humanity's greatest ally was no longer on the verge of defeat. "Although we do not have the resources we once had," Elizabeth began, "If there's anything we can do to assist..."

Thor cut her off. "Perhaps, in the future, but now it is you who needs our assistance. Unfortunately, my visit is not simply a friendly one. I have come to warn you, and to assist you as best I can. As we speak, the Wraith of this galaxy are mobilizing for a full scale assault on Atlantis."

Elizabeth felt as though the ground had just fallen out from beneath her. "How much time do we have?"

"If the Wraith armada maintains its current course and speed, it will arrive in orbit of Atlantis in thirty days, six hours, twenty four minutes, and fifty one seconds."

She nodded slowly. "... Then we have a lot of work to do."

END CHAPTER 2

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Feedback is most definitely welcome – particularly constructive criticism. Nothing makes me happier than to know what specifically you (the reader) liked, what you didn't like, and (most importantly) why.


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